Page 41 of The Big Puck

His eyes widen, and he backs up, putting his hands up. “Whoa there, calm down. It’s okay. He’s harmless. Besides, she can take care of herself.” He stares at me.

Neither of us is going to bring up our previous discussion about Lainey staying here with me in front of Dumas. But I notice out of the corner of my eye that he’s watching us with great interest, and he may be an immature dick, but he’s not stupid. So, I back down.

“Of course, she can, but there’s no need to put her to the test.” I turn to Dumas. “She’s off-limits to you. She works for me, and so do you. You’ve heard about the non-fraternization policy, right?”

He nods, but his skeptical look tells me he’s not entirely buying my faulty reasoning, but I don’t care. I’m running with it until it sticks.

“Make sure you tell all the guys she’s off-limits. Is that clear?”

He nods.

“I would have told the guys the same thing anyway,” Jason says. “I don’t want any of them sniffing around her either.”

I’m not so sure his reasons are the same as mine, but it doesn’t matter. I nod. I don’t know what my motives are exactly, and I don’t want to examine them right now.

“On your way then.” I tilt my head toward the back door.

“Not without these cookies,” Jason says with a grin as he eyes a big container filled with some good-looking and better-smelling cookies. I nod and let them go.

“See you both bright and early. Stay out of trouble. Get a good night’s sleep. We have our first pre-season game coming up in three days.”

“Later, Coach,” Jason says. “Can’t leave without these.” He grabs the container of cookies and dumps all the cookies from the plate into it, then closes the lid, taking all the cookies with him.

Dumas laughs. “Good thinking. Lainey’s cookies are sweet as fuck.” He eyes me as he says the words, and I get that it’s a double-entendre meant to get a rise out of me, but I keep my cool and don’t respond.

As they walk out the back door, Jason punches the air where my fist is supposed to be. But I remain a hard-ass because I have to maintain a line firmly between us and not get too familiar as if we’re buddies. Because we’re not buddies. If anything, I need to be more of a father figure.

When Lainey returns to the kitchen, I’m still standing there alone, listening to the clock tick. She goes to the sink to finish cleaning some dishes and glances at the table.

“Did Jason take all the cookies?”

I nod.

“Then I better make another batch.”

“Don’t bother on my account.”

“You liked the cookies. Of course, I’ll make more.”

I don’t argue. Instead, I stay in the kitchen to watch her when I should be looking at clips of the scrimmage from earlier today. But I don’t move. Settling onto an uncomfortable wooden chair at the old table, I take in the scent of baking cookies.

The whole scene reminds me of when I was a kid, and my grandma would bake in her kitchen when Mom and I lived with her after Dad left. I don’t know why I should be reminded of Grandma since Lainey doesn’t bear any resemblance to her whatsoever. Shit. No need to go down that rabbit hole about what I think Lainey looks like.

“We had a nice visit with your Aunt Hildie today. I adore her already, and more importantly, Krissy adores her, too—but I probably don’t need to tell you that.”

“No.”

“She’s a special woman. She cares a great deal about you.” She cuts her gaze in my direction. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that. I don’t normally talk about my family—and not just because I’m a private person.

“Aunt Hildie is my mother’s sister and never had children. We all lived here in Portsmouth, so we were close growing up.” Jesus. “I don’t mean to bore you with family details.”

“It’s not boring. Don’t worry, Spence. Nothing about you is boring. Ever.” Something about her words or her tone of voice makes me shift in my chair. I could say the same about her never being boring, but I don’t. She waits for me to say something, and I heave a sigh.

“What did you talk about?”

“The usual. How well Krissy is doing, growing, and getting on a regular sleeping schedule. Nothing important.” She doesn’t look at me, concentrating on placing lumps of cookie dough on the baking sheets, and I know she’s holding back. She has a tell when she’s nervous. She toys with her hair, pushing it behind one ear and smoothing it down when, normally, she ignores her hair and lets it bounce wildly, framing her face or, sometimes, covering one eye.

When I spoke to my aunt earlier in our daily call, she sounded nothing but pleased with Lainey. Of course. But she was holding back, too.